


THE QUIET

by eltanin-malfoy (GammaDraconis)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Consensual Underage Sex, Depression, Draco Malfoy Has A Huge Ego, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Draco Malfoy Has a Crush, Draco Malfoy In Love, Draco Malfoy Loves Attention, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inexperienced Draco Malfoy, Loss of Virginity, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Lucius and Narcissa love Draco though, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Multi, POV Draco Malfoy, Physical Abuse, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Public Display of Affection, Queer Draco Malfoy, Reader-Insert, Sad Draco Malfoy, Self-Harm, Slight fluff, Songfic, Top Draco Malfoy, Trauma, Virgin Draco Malfoy, ghosting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GammaDraconis/pseuds/eltanin-malfoy
Summary: Perhaps it had been true all along, that vulnerability was like holding your arm out on your own accord while it was permanently marked to show your allegiance. It was only regretful. For what reason would you bare your soul to someone? Why would you let down your guard? Was there anyone you could really even trust?Draco didn’t know why. But inside, deep, deep inside him, he knew that there was still love for you in plenty. But he couldn’t acknowledge it. Not when he was so close..orDraco doesn’t know how to be vulnerable, but you prompt him to want to try. (based on the song by Troye Sivan)





	THE QUIET

Silence is something Draco used to hate. With every fibre of his being. 

When he was seven and sitting at the dining table, picking through his greens with his fork, his mother not letting him get up till he was done, everything was quiet. Forcibly so. His father thought that his chatting only got in the way of him finishing his spinach.

He’d overheard his parents talking about him when he’d sneaked out of his room late one night, to get his toy broomstick out of his father’s study after he’d confiscated it. (_ “You can’t be mucking about outside all day, Draco.” _) He’d hidden behind his father’s desk, fingers wrapped tightly around the wood of the broomstick, while his parents had walked in, Lucius’ voice practically booming.

“Draco’s taken after me quite a bit. You’re right.”

“He definitely has.. Like everybody says, his fa-”

“No, not just that.. His behaviour. Just what I used to do.”  
“You haven’t told me about that.”

“He’s smart, isn’t he? He can babble on about anything and everything at dinner and you gush over him, and he realises it.”  
“Are you just pointing tha-”

“No, dear. I mean, he _ realises _ it. He hates eating his greens, you know that. He tips them into his pocket while you fawn over him when he speaks.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I glared at him when I noticed it myself and put a stop to it this evening.”

“Wow.. he’s only seven and-”  
“He’s smart. At least we know he’ll be a Slytherin.”

Draco’s eyebrows had raised considerably since this conversation had started. He poked his head out the side of the drawers lining the side of the desk and couldn’t miss the smile lining his mother’s lips.

“_ At least _ we know he’ll be a Slytherin. I’ll just have to keep him quiet, I suppose.” She agreed, giggling as his father picked out a novel from the bookcase by the door. “So, this is the Waffling novel you so _ worship _ ? Doesn’t look like much.” She took it from him and checked out the cover, turning towards the door. “ _ Narcissa _.. “ His father’s voice muttered off in a slow drawl as the two exited the room. 

Draco clutched the broom closer to his chest and felt his heart racing, a smirk soon forming on his face as he realised he’d gotten away with what he so desired. He slowly crept out from his hiding place, carrying the broomstick with both hands now. He waddled over to the door, conscious of his movements as he tried his best not to make a single sound. 

Tiptoeing on his tiny toes, he managed to get out of the study. The weight of his parents words suddenly hit him. For the first time in his life, he’d understood… his parents did in fact, notice the things he did. Little mischiefs here and there to somehow cajole an extra sweet or two from his mother. Their line of sight didn’t extend simply to his bad posture or hyperactivity. 

Not only that, they’d figured out exactly how to combat his actions. Drat! It was such a clever idea.. how did he manage to see through it? Or, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as slick as he would like to admit. Either way, he’d seemed to have gotten his broom out just fine, so maybe they weren’t that aware of everything he did. Right?

Wrong. It wasn’t long after he’d gone up the staircase towards his bedroom that he felt a hand press flat onto the top of his head. He flinched at first and then looked up, squinting slightly.  
  
“And what do you think you’re doing?” His father’s voice came out in a whisper, while his features still seemed high strung, even in the dark. Draco simply stared up at him silently and handed over his broom. “Now, you’re not getting this back. Not for another month.” 

Draco pursed his lips and trudged silently up to his room. “And I’m not going to keep it where you found it either. You won’t be able to search for it yourself.” Draco felt the slightest bit of rage pulsing through his temple but kept his gaze on the floor, knowing even a cruel glance back at his father would only earn him an even longer punishment. He felt the need to retort and felt his lips moving before he could stop them. 

“I’ll find it, alright. Like _ you _ could hide it from me.” 

Draco felt his father jabbing the tip of his broomstick into the back of his hip and winced, quickly reaching back to grip at where his father had poked him, where there was sure to be a purply red bruise the next day. It wasn’t even like he’d never been put in his place much as a child, but this one time.. just.. 

“Silence is golden, Draco.”

His hip wasn’t the only thing that was bruised that night. His lovely, large ego hurt too.

And since then, for some stubborn reason, Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it being silent. Not when he knew he wasn’t alone. Not around anyone else. Being silent only meant submission. Giving into something he didn’t want to be. 

Submission was weakness. His father had told him that himself. Giving up wasn’t something Malfoys did, and submission was practically the same thing. But apparently, the same didn’t hold for however his father wanted him to behave around him. Even then, Draco knew submitting to another’s will only meant the loss of his own intent. Submission meant vulnerability, and being silent, listening to what someone else wanted to say rather than his own will, meant he was giving himself up instead of getting what he wanted for himself. 

And so, he began to treat it as practically his own responsibility to always keep conversations going. Sure, he’d want his peace and quiet now and then (his friends’ constant bumbling around did grow annoying after a point), but he felt that the only way he could truly enjoy silence was in absolute solitude. Pursuing his own interests, reading a book or listening to a song..

If anyone was nearby, he couldn’t really stop himself from saying something to them, whether it be rude or not. He always had a word to put in. He found that while what he said didn’t always reflect what he truly felt, it made people recognise him. Know who he was. Even if it was for the wrong reasons, he found that he liked it. Popularity (or even _ notoriety _) felt good on him. Or at least it felt great for his ego.

Being heard meant being in charge, at least in his perspective. He realised that facing situations head on, that confrontation was the best strategy for him. Even if it didn’t always end up in the best way for him, he never had many regrets. Most of the time.

Even at Hogwarts, his confrontational manner had earned him some sort of following, at least in his own house. Sure, it was also the same manner that had made Potter his _ rival _, but hey, if Potter didn’t know what a great offer he’d just declined, it wasn’t his fault. He could go hang out with Weasley as much as he liked, it wasn’t like it was Draco who really even wanted to be friends with him. Like, at all. He was just doing what he thought he should be doing, dutifully. After all, if he, the Malfoy heir, didn’t attempt to befriend The Boy Who Lived, would he even be a true Malfoy? 

But what truly validated him, more than anything else, was knowing that.. people were _ interested _ in him. Not that they treated as some sort of queer phenomenon, but that they.. romantically liked him. Sure, it did sound plenty pathetic, feeling great about himself thanks to someone else fancying him, it shouldn’t matter as much to him, should it? But then again, he loved attention. Especially that sort of attention.

And there was Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott and Padma Patil and Wayne Hopkins and.. well.. there was a fair share of people Draco definitely wouldn’t mind a love note from. But even then, so far only one of them seemed to actually feel the same way about him. And after spending enough time around her, it was clear she felt even more intensely about their relationship than he did. And so, he ended it, because while he did love getting fawned over, even he had his limits. His type wasn’t.. people who were clingy, so to say. 

The one main similarity he noticed between all those that he developed some sort of attraction for was that they were all outgoing. Not necessarily assertive, some of them even came off as unpleasant at times, but they seemed at least interested in getting their word across, some way or the other.

Of course, there are always, always exceptions to rules. Draco couldn’t even understand why he felt the way he did about _ you _. It certainly wasn’t immediate, as far as he could tell. It was incredibly gradual. For sure. He wasn’t impulsive. Not at all.

He didn’t even really see you at first, per se. You were apparently in the same year but managed to avoid his glance for the entirety of your first four years. It was only really in Draco’s fifth year that he even noticed your existence, frankly.

The very first time was during the later hours of the day, after dinner one evening in September. He’d realised his first OWL practice essay for Transfiguration (homework McGonagall had assigned in the second week of school, Merlin) wasn’t up to the mark. He’d scanned through Pansy’s when she’d left her materials in the common room while she headed to the washroom and was not pleased with her seemingly improving essay writing skills. He certainly wasn’t going to let her do better than him. Not when he knew a victory like that would go straight to her head and make her stop basically kissing the ground beneath his feet, even though they’d been apart for quite a while now. 

He’d gone off to the library by himself in an attempt to rework it. Roping in another student to do it for him would have definitely done the job as well, but for some reason, a churning feeling in his gut told him this was something he needed to deal with himself. Maybe there was something special about Vanishing spells..? Maybe this was the year he’d impress everyone and get straight O’s for each of his assignments. And of course, his actual OWL’s, O’s on all of those too. Maybe he’d even do better than that mudbl-

And suddenly, the usually-very-regal-in-his-gait Draco Malfoy fell to the floor, face first. He felt an uncomfortable flaring up on his nose and grimaced. His book bag fell to his side, and he heard his ink bottle crack open.

He got back onto his feet as quickly as he could and picked up his bag, narrowing his grey eyes as he watched a dark stain forming on the side of it. Merlin. His father had only bought it for him that summer. Shit. He quickly looked to see what had caused him to fall on his face, frowning terribly. But he definitely wasn’t expecting what he saw. He was figuring some overexcited Gryffindor first year had bumped into him and pushed him over but.. no..

It was _ you _. You. Someone close to his own age, looking up at him with nervous, nervous eyes, anxiously darting all over his figure and his bag. “I’m sorry.” You managed out, reaching into the pocket on the side of your robes. You did seem familiar. He recognised you somewhat. Sort of, at least. You couldn’t possibly be trying to get on his nerves on purpose. Not with the finicky way you were picking through your coin purse. “I”m sorry. I.. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, you should have.”  
“R-right.” You paused and stared up at his face, avoiding his piercing gaze. “How much d-”

“You don’t need to pay for this. Just leave.” Draco uttered before he could even process his own thoughts.

“But I do.”  
“No, i-it’s fine. I can handle it. Don't need you.” Why was he being generous? With this stranger?

“Your parchment..? And your b-books? They must be ruined too.”  
“I know how to deal with them.”  
“Oh.. oh. If you-you say so. I’m sorry. I can-”

“It’s alright. You don't need to bother.” 

You offered him an awkward sort of smile and nodded before turning to leave. Draco blinked slowly and took a deep breath, holding the bag up a bit higher. He reached for his wand and did what little he could to deal with the mess. It was almost hopeless to begin with. And he couldn’t exactly understand why he was suddenly all jittery. Why his stomach suddenly felt like it was full of butterflies.

It really was hopeless. To begin with.

You were_ so not his type _ ! Sure, there were no real physical aspects to tie into ‘his type’, but goddamn it! He now realised you’d been in his year all this while and he hadn’t thought of you once. Not once. You’d stay huddled up within your tiny group of friends most of the time. You’d shy out of uttering a word in class to anyone but those sitting right next to you, and the couple of times he’d heard your voice was when a teacher directly questioned you. Oh, dear god. He shouldn’t even care. If he actually had forced someone else to polish his essay for him, this problem would never even have manifested in the first place.  
  
He found himself wasting time, _ so much time _ , just pondering over _ you _. Wondering over dumb, idiotic things. Time he could’ve spent studying for his OWL’s, practicing Quidditch, trying to butter up Umbridge… he was staring out the window by his bed, looking at the Black Lake, thinking about the color of your eyes. 

Even during lessons, he’d find himself staring at you while you remained mostly unaware. _ Mostly _, since at random moments you would peer back at him in fear. Why were you so goddamn afraid of him? What had he even done for you to think of him as such? Sure, he was intimidating, but he’d been nice to you. Right?

And before he knew it, he was pulling you to the side of the hallway after a particularly tricky Charms practical when he thought you seemed relatively.. alone. You looked up at him, again nervous, nibbling at your lip.

“D-do you want me to pay up now?”  
“What? No.” Draco didn’t even understand why his heart was hammering out of his chest.

“Are you going to take me up to Umbridge?”  
“No!” You were far from intimidating. Adorably rattled, if he were to be honest.

“Then? C-could I go?” 

Oh god, what happened to his normal headstrong sort of preference in people? You and Draco were seriously total opposites. 

But then again, opposites do attract, as a wise man once said (or at least Draco thought so).

“No. I.. was.. um.. we have a Hogsmeade weekend next week.”  
“Yes..?”  
“And I wanted to know if.. if you wanted to go with me.”

“W-”

“Just.. nothing more than that. We can just go there. As friends.”  
“I don’t kn-”

“Please?”

“I.. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Alright.” 

The shaky way in which he was gripping your wrist suddenly came to his attention and he drew his hand back. “L-let me know.” He muttered, watching as you slowly turned and walked away. 

It was truly abnormal for him to be acting so.. unhinged. On edge, even. Really. This was all so pathetic. He was all worked up simply due to a crush. So very pathetic. 

He spent the rest of the day walking around idly between classes, with Crabbe and Goyle following after him. They’d caught on to some extent, it seemed. And it deeply annoyed Draco that he wasn’t the one initiating a conversation for once. His nerves were much too on fire for him to even consider saying a word.

Unfortunately, Pansy noticed him being uncharacteristically calm as well. And what was even more unfortunate was that the Head Boy and Girl had made it such that the two Slytherin fifth year prefects had to do their rounds of the dungeons together that very night. Jesus. Christ.

Not only was his gut still seconds from turning in on itself, but he also had to face a girl who was as jealous as she definitely didn’t need to be. 

“So… is everything alright?”  
“Yes.”  
“Are you sure? Pott-”  
“Nothing to do with him.”

“You’re sure?”  
“Yes.”  
“Then what’s got your tongue?”  
“Nothing. I’m fine.”  
“Is there-”  
“It’s nothing.” He responded somewhat harshly, hoping to force her silent.

But alas! Pansy wasn’t the sort to relent. She managed to nag and tug at his strings long and hard enough for him to actually snap at her. Thankfully then, she decided to stop sticking her nose into where it didn’t belong and fell silent herself. Oh, thank god. He didn’t want to have to give her the silent treatment himself, goodness knows how much his head would have hurt after that.

Even after his rounds were complete and all his work for the following day was complete, Draco found his stomach swirling with anxiety. It had been hours, _ hours _ , since he’d spoken to you. How long could it take for someone to come to a decision to something as simple as what he’d posed to you? Not to mention, there were an infinite number of ways for you to contact him. He had a lot of friends (all of whom definitely weren’t _ that _ intimidating and for the most part could _ easily _ be manipulated) who could pass on messages to him. 

What did you quiet types even think of yourself? That you could keep everyone waiting and hope that they all just chalk it up to you being too goddamn demure? Annoying. You weren’t allowed to make his heart flutter by a simple glance. And with the way all your past encounters had gone, it seemed as if you weren’t going to give him much more than that. Gosh.

He was sitting by himself on his bed, legs crossed while he tried to somehow focus on his DADA textbook. Slinkhard could make even _ Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation _ sound plaintive. No matter how much he pretended to enjoy Umbridge’s presence, he had no idea how he was going to act like this textbook was actually usable. 

  
As he found himself reading over the first few lines of the chapter for the seventh time, Nott burst into the dormitory holding up.. something. A piece of folded up parchment, perhaps. 

“Y/L/N handed this to me. Just now. By the dungeons.”

“Thanks.”  
  
Draco took it from him, his hand trembling in excitement. _ Finally, finally, finally! _

But then he paused. Nott must have read the message already. He wasn’t actually purehearted enough to simply hand over a message as asked. He ran his thumb over the parchment. 

“Have you.. looked at it?”  
“What? No. It’s private.”  
“Don’t give me that.. you have, haven’t you?”

Draco suddenly wished he wasn’t in his silky pyjamas so he could use his prefect badge as a threat. What could you have possibly offered him for him to do this for you? He watched as his cheeks slowly turned crimson.

“No. Haven’t. Couldn’t. It… couldn’t open it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, nodding. Huh. He attempted to unfold it himself and found that it was in fact impossible. Theo was still staring at him, and Draco found that for once, he wasn’t enjoying the attention much. He sneered at him enough to get his message across and walked back to his bed, drawing up the hangings so he could continue with his efforts without any prying eyes around.

Physical efforts proved to be worthless and he found himself extremely confused. Could you have sent him a message just to tide him over for a bit? Give him some sort of hope but actually mean to just annoy him. Maybe you were more annoying than he’d given you credit for. 

But then again, he had yet to put any sort of wizarding skill to the test. He brought his wand out from under his pillow and tapped the note.. and somehow.. it opened up! He honestly shouldn’t have been as astonished as he was, sealant charms weren’t new to him. 

_ Draco, _

_ I accept your offer. Let’s meet in the courtyard at ten o’clock on that Saturday morning. _

_ See you, _

_ Y/N. _

And that was all it said. And for some reason, Draco couldn’t stop smiling. 

  
You’d accepted his offer! _ Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! _ He wanted to jump around and sing and dance and just tell everybody. But maybe it would do him better just to go to sleep. It was quite late.. and well… he was tired. The unusual bout of anxiety he’d faced through the day had only made him weary.

Within the next few days, most everyone he knew, at least in his year, seemed to have gotten wind of him having received a secret message from Y/L/N, courtesy of Nott, of course. Gods, he should really have Crabbe and Goyle just let loose on him. Then maybe he’d learned his own place. Never mind, his face was still much too appealing to even imagining disfiguring as such. Maybe some other time. 

Pansy didn’t hesitate to ask him, even tease him about it. He’d obviously offered no comment. It was obvious that her and her band of girls had already gossiped quite a bit about it, and he could only hope you weren’t being disturbed. 

Surprisingly, you bothered giving Draco an actual smile a couple days later. A few times, in fact. It made him feel a lot giddier than he would have cared to admit. 

Your actual ‘meeting’ with Draco turned out to be a lot more.. pleasant than he’d originally anticipated. While it was true that you weren’t one to talk much, you were a real pleasure to have around. You certainly weren’t the type to talk his ear off, and he found that he enjoyed that, for once. 

Going to the Three Broomsticks hadn’t resulted in a prolonged awkward silence, as Draco had been expecting, but more of a.. blushy exchange of smiles. Sweet ones. It was totally new to him, what with always being surrounded by his Slytherin cronies meaning hours and hours of pointless banter. It wasn’t absolutely silent either. There were the greetings, exchanges of pleasantries and everything along those lines. Not much more, since, you know, you were.. shy. And it was adorable. Perhaps coyness wasn’t as annoying as he thought.

You’d even held his hand for a bit on the way back, and he’d loved it. (Obviously, he’d never tell a soul that.) 

As the browned autumn leaves fell to the ground and left the trees bare, whatever it was between the two of you blossomed into something more. Exchanging letters later into the night (+hiding outside of the dungeons to even receive them) even stolen kisses when Draco knew you wouldn’t expect them (causing you to blush, which he so adored. Which was.. top secret, as well), became more commonplace. He grew accustomed to the frigid breeze that would blow around the courtyard onto his hands, he passed his own thick gloves to you while you walked, of course.

For once in his life, Draco understood that silence didn’t always have to mean subservience. Silence was tranquility. Silence was a symbol for.. intimacy. Sometimes the times when the two of you exchanged no words were the most meaningful of all. Sometimes holding each other close was all it took to calm him down, even after the wildest of days.

Feeling vulnerable didn’t have to mean you were shooting yourself in the foot. Draco now learnt what trust truly meant. Perhaps distance wasn’t the ideal, in actuality. Perhaps being superior wasn’t what he always needed to chase. Perhaps it was simply compatibility. 

  
It felt nice to have you beside him. Or at least.. following nearby. All of his own friends had caught on to what was going on quite easily, and thankfully, Draco had gotten it across to them that there would be real hell to pay for teasing either of the two of you about it. He knew there had to be gossip. Hell, he could imagine some of it himself. But he knew how to pretend he didn’t care. Pansy’s jealousy had only grown, but Draco couldn’t find it in him to give it much thought.

One of his favourite instances was the one time he managed to sneak the two of you out to the Black Lake. It had taken some convincing and quite a lot of sneaking out here and then, but thankfully, Draco wasn’t one to shy away from using his prefect badge to further himself. He got out of his nightly rounds with Pansy and forced Macmillan to take them up instead. You didn’t like that very much but.. hey, Draco wanted to spend time with his significant other, doing.. important things.

Losing _ it _ (his.. virginity, shhh) was something he’d anticipated for much of his adolescent life. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t desired it, very very badly at that. (He _ was _a teenager, wasn’t he? If he wasn’t allowed to be hormonal, who was?) The Black Lake was isolated in the dark of night, and a few Lumos Maxima’s did enough to offer some sort of romantic lighting. Setting out a makeshift mattress was hard enough, but he was ultimately just satisfied with the fact that you’d even agreed to it in the first place. 

A lot of hand holding, quiet compliments, uncontrollable blushing and petting later, he’d managed to fit himself inside you. The slight tears in your eyes had made him feel like stopping it all right there, but you’d assured him it was all okay with a slight squeeze to his hand. Locking eyes with you had made him want to just… give in right then. He’d have thought the silence would have been awkward (and maybe it was, a tiny bit), but it felt ethereal to just be there.. to feel infatuated. To make love. 

The only thing that had really bothered Draco was that your silence seemed to continue into then. Light gasps were all he could seem to coax out of your mouth, even at the tugging of your skin with his teeth. He couldn’t tell if he was doing something wrong, or if it was just you. He held you close to his chest long after, grey eyes trailing over you with some degree of perplexity. 

It had been very cold outside and you’d practically snuggled into him while you walked back, leaning back onto him while he tried to fit you into his coat. You couldn’t seem to get close enough to him, it seemed. He wanted to just carry you around wherever he went. Keep you on his lap and cuddle you. 

And that was when he realised he loved you. And his lips felt oddly loose and he leaned down to whisper it into your ear. 

And you said it back.

If only..

If only good things didn’t come to an end. 

The Inquisitorial Squad was a beginning. A new start to the spring. But an end to his own free time. What he didn’t take seriously at first turned into an ordeal he was forced to take charge of. _ Responsibility _, the word just didn’t roll off his tongue as easy. 

Sure, he was allowed to take his liberty with practically every single decision he had to make. He didn’t have to give any kind of mercy to the people he took points from, and he didn’t plan on it. But it only seemed to force cracks into the foundation of your relationship. 

The silence was slowly beginning to fade. 

You weren’t enjoying the antics he’d begun to pull. Sure, his teasing was something that annoyed you to begin with, but now that bullying was backed by an official contract.. even watching Draco do his ‘prefectural duty’ and put the students in their place seemed to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“Draco.. I.. I just.. I don’t like it.”  
“I have to do what I have to do.”  
“No, you don’t. You don’t have to go around.. Being so awful.”  
“I didn’t ask for you to approve of it.”

“Draco.”  
“What?”  
  
He took a deep breath and looked up from the book in front of him to see you looking back at him, face more stern than usual.  
  
“Take me seriously.”  
“I-.. I don’t see why this should matter. I’m not..”  
“You’re being ridiculous. It’s horrid, you know that.”  
“This doesn’t.. “ He huffed. “I’m not doing anything to you. This has nothing to do with you. Keep out of it.”

You got up all of a sudden, making him raise an eyebrow. You hurriedly started putting everything away, silent again.

“W-what? What is it now?”  
“Maybe you wouldn’t be sporting a black eye if you didn’t go around on such a high horse all the time. I care about you, Draco. I’m only saying this because I do.”

You left soon after, leaving Draco in your wake, unsure of how to proceed. Your words only seemed to grow harsh when Draco was at his weakest. It wasn’t his fault Potter and the Weasleys were so goddamn sensitive, he thought. 

As spring melted into summer, everything only seemed to grow colder. 

His OWL’s were just as challenging as he’d anticipated them being but he hoped he hadn’t done too badly. The time he’d previously spent studying was filled with him trying to look for where Potter’s secret youth corps was hiding. 

The Dark Lord was coming back to his full powers, Draco had known. But what Draco hadn’t expected was his own father being thrown into Azkaban after losing a battle to Potter’s preposterous student group (Dumbledore’s Army, really? The nerve of people!), of all people. The universe was truly bent on humiliating him. He could only feel rage. Red, burning hot. 

You tried to comfort him, somehow. Surely, you had to be scared of him. He was the son of a full blown Death Eater.. of a prisoner of Azkaban, how couldn’t you feel afraid? Everyone else must have been. He’d seen the stares the younger children had given him, and he’d given them a taste of what was boiling deep within. His tongue had grown quicker, less patient thanks to all of this. He’d begun to crave the redemption of his family name above all else. Enough to try and seek revenge on the Hogwarts Express. (and fail.)

It was only a few weeks into summer when he’d been told that the Dark Lord himself wanted to include him in his ranks, even offer him a mission. One just for him. A special, secret task he felt Draco was up to. And how could he say no? 

His mission was difficult, extraordinarily difficult. Getting rid of one of the most powerful wizards of all time was certainly much more than he could handle along with everything else going on in his life. His turbulent relationship with you, with whom he was still only.. sporadically exchanging letters, was not what he wanted anymore, it seemed. If you got to know about his goal, you’d only try to encourage him not to pursue it, and he couldn’t have any distractions, not when he was bearing his family’s status on his shoulders. 

And so he wrote you one final letter. A short one, just to inform you of his decision on the two of you. At this point, he could care less about your feelings. He was simply more focused on being proud of the mark he wore on his forearm, the snake and skull etched into his skin forever. Eternal glory was what he was hoping for, and romance suddenly seemed irrelevant. 

_ Y/N, _

_ I have to end things between us. I’m sorry if this is very sudden. This is all just too much for me to handle, with father and everything, I find myself very stressed.. _

_ Good luck _ <strike> _ and I love you _ </strike> _ , _

_ Draco. _

And that was that. The end of an anomaly, of ten odd months of his life. He’d been happy for a while but it was time to move on and take life by the reins! His new mission was clearly something to be proud about and he knew it.  
  
But it was so simple to fall back into his old habits. Pansy…

She was far too eager to take your place. She was far too unconcerned about the mark on his arm. And he could care less for the consequences as she lay on his bed, kissing every part of him that was exposed to the cold air. Moving on was easier than dealing with his feelings, after all. If he moved fast enough, he wouldn’t have to think about _ you _ again. 

It was clear you had thought about him. Made it clear. You’d sent him letter upon letter after receiving his own, your brown Athene noctua had twittered all over the place, chasing after him for a response. But Draco hadn’t even opened your letters, he’d tossed them straight into his fireplace upon receiving them. 

_ Out of sight, out of mind. _

  
And for the most part, it worked. He wasn’t hung up. He wasn’t moody. He wasn’t crying. He was using up whatever energy he had in bed. Over and over and over until Pansy was exhausted or simply excused herself. He flaunted her a bit, spent time alone with her. Looked you in the eyes while he held her hand. He didn’t even try to hide it. And he hoped his shamelessness helped you move on too. He knew you weren’t going to approach him, and that simply egged him on. The public displays of affection continued and you only seemed to continue to blend into the background, as you always used to. It was all for the best, really.

Except it wasn’t. The mission wasn’t as simple as it had seemed at first. It wasn’t something he could just.. do. It took effort and it took _ courage _. Something he’d realised he lacked, greatly. It was much too much responsibility. Yet again, he struggled with it. His sixteen year old shoulders weren’t strong enough to bear so much weight, or at least that’s what he told himself.

But inside, he knew. He_ knew _ it was his own cowardice which would thwart his plans to save his family’s name, which would bring dishonour to his family. He had to try his best. 

But he only seemed to fail. His plans didn’t seem to work for much. All that was working was the training Aunt Bella had given him. Compartmentalisation seemed to be the only thing keeping him going. If he gave in to his thoughts, he knew he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger.

And suddenly life began to move faster than he could think and he’d Imperiused Madam Rosmerta and Katie Bell was sent to St. Mungo’s and Ron Weasley had been poisoned and he was confiding his deepest thoughts to the ghost of a Mudblood. 

All his feelings began bubbling up to the surface and he couldn’t attempt to numb the pain, the guilt, the fear by just forcing them away. He was making mistakes left and right, and perhaps.. his first had been you. Maybe if he hadn’t ever met you. Things would have been simpler. He could’ve gotten straight to Pansy. And.. there would have been no complications. Nothing in between. No guilt deterring him from looking you in the eye and just telling you to sod off. 

Perhaps it had been true all along, that vulnerability was like holding your arm out on your own accord while it was permanently marked to show your allegiance. It was only regretful. For what reason would you bare your soul to someone? Why would you let down your guard? Was there anyone you could really even trust?

Draco didn’t know why. But inside, deep, deep inside him, he knew that there was still love for you in plenty. But he couldn’t acknowledge it. Not when he was so close.. 

And everything else after that point seemed to pass on in a vivid haze. It was like having an out-of-body experience, except the ‘experience’ wasn’t coming to an end. No matter how hard he tried. Scraping his nails along his skin drew blood, but nothing else. It seemed the pain had turned into something habitual. It was as if it lived inside him. 

He watched himself grow paler, have to buckle his belt as tightly as he possibly could, give up his life of luxury in favour of serving the Dark Lord, as if he was simply looking in on someone else’s life. 

His home was no longer his home. The Manor had turned into a place where turmoil and torture were everyday things. He could barely live with himself. His mother’s smile was all that kept him from knotting a rope around his neck and-

Well, it was that and… it was the memories. The few happy memories he had outside of the Manor. While now his childhood was tainted with what haunted his present, he remembered.. _ you _.

The hours spent in silence, just being around each other. Giving each other smiles. Having no expectations of each other but to just.. give each other company. Cuddling. Kissing. This led his mind to a different path of thinking but he kept it at bay. He had enough of that from his time with Pansy, and he didn’t want to think about being with anyone but you. 

It was no mistake. It was fate. It was destiny. That one day at the library was everything. And even if his heart still ached, he was better with the memories than without them at all. 

He still loved you. But this damned war was in the middle of everything and the guilt was getting to him. 

Hogwarts had succumbed to the Dark Lord’s forces only after Draco had managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. It was all him. He was the reason why so many first years would be filled with dread for years to come. He was the reason why so many people had to face so much more than they needed to. He wanted to end it all. Just. Get it over with. 

But he wasn’t brave enough to. 

Everything he set his mind to seemed out of reach. 

And so, he lost his wand. And his sense of self. He betrayed the Dark Lord. And he endured his punishment for it too. The Cruciatus curse was more painful to experience than it was to watch, he’d learned. Hours and hours of it would leave a bloody taste in your mouth. Even the ruddy scars he’d scratched into his own skin burned. His Dark Mark was sizzling as if on fire.

The “Battle of Hogwarts”, they’d called it. It sounded so much more epic than it really was. It was pain and it was pain and it was pain. Over and over and over. The sight of the dead made him want to empty his guts and pull his eyes out of their sockets. 

He couldn’t help but think about you. Where were you? Had you been evacuated? Or were you fighting too? He would have thought the former.. but the war drove people to extremes, he’d noticed. Bellatrix couldn’t have always been this bloodthirsty, surely. 

He hoped and prayed and just wished that you were safe. He wanted to find you. And that he would. Perhaps after all of this. Perhaps you’d forgive him. Perhaps everything else would fit into place and you could live together. Maybe you’d be able to help him rid his memories of this insane, inhumane conflict. 

But it wasn’t so.

It had been months since the war had ended. Since Potter’s side had triumphed and his had lost, if you could call it his. His family had managed to avoid going to Azkaban thanks to his mother’s courageous feat. His mother was braver than him in every which way, he understood that now. Perhaps if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward, everything wouldn’t have been left in pieces. 

The only thing he was glad about was that your name hadn’t been listed in the casualties of the war. He’d searched for it from paper to paper and had been glad it was nowhere to be seen, for once.

He was still in and out of St. Mungo’s and the memories still haunted him. The dreams would never end. Sometimes he’d see it all happen again in a rush, sometimes he’d imagine it was his parents they were hurting. Sometimes it’d be you. They were much too real. Once he imagined it was him hurting you. He’d woken up and gotten into the tub in his bathroom, writhing and shaking, clammy with perspiration. He wouldn’t have gotten out of the water alive if his mother hadn’t noticed his bed was empty. 

And so he spent his days in bed, his body barely able to keep down what he took in, if at all. Their house elf practically resided by his bedside for a while, offering him glasses of water when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, nightmares as dark as always. 

He wanted to, no, needed to find you. Apologise. Even kneel in front of you until you forgave him. 

But he knew you never would. He’d hurt you and then gone on to aid in the murder of one of the most valuable headmasters of Hogwarts. He’d helped the Dark Lord harm all those that were supposedly beneath them. How could you even look him in the eye? You’d been afraid of him before you’d even spoken properly and.. he expected you to forgive him for essentially assisting in the taking over of the Wizarding World? It was impossible.

Draco found himself avoiding every sort of human contact. He’d stay in his room for hours on end with the door locked. The silence was everywhere, all around him. Swallowing him whole. 

He’d spent ages just fathoming what it might be like if he could summon the courage to contact you. Maybe you would understand. Maybe you would forgive him. Maybe it would all be okay.

But the chances of that happening were too low. And so he let the quiet envelope him instead. 

He was barely a shadow of himself. Of the person he thought you’d loved. He couldn’t tell you a single good thing about himself. He wished you would write to him instead. He wished there was some way he could retrieve those bloody letters you’d sent him all that while ago. But he could only be filled with regret. 

The silence that had once disgusted him, then comforted him was almost mocking him. The loneliness, the despair, every negative emotion was as if a part of it. He knew the only way out of it and although he knew it was practically pointless to even try, he knew he had to. 

_ Y/N, _

_ I can’t take this any longer. I just can’t. I’m the most pathetic person on earth. I can’t live with myself anymore. _

_ I love you. I still do. And I’m so deeply sorry. There is no way I can even attempt to justify what I did because it was just horrible. It was so terribly idiotic. You were right about all of it. I was such an arse. To everyone. You deserved so much better than me. You always have and you always will. _

_ But I need to see you. _ <strike> _ Please. _ </strike> _ I need to speak to you. Just give me that much. I’m barely holding on. Just write back to me. _ <strike> _ Please. I know I sound desperate. _ </strike>

_ I understand if you decide against seeing me ever again. I do. I deserve it. Just give me this much. Please. _

_ With love, _

_ Draco. _

And so he sent it off to you, putting it in his owl’s beak while spilled ink still blotched his fingers. 

He could only hope that you would treat it better than he had treated your own letters. That you would even read it. Even two words of acknowledgement would be enough from you, really. He just needed to know that you had seen it. 

He sat in his room, waiting for his owl to return. And it did a few hours later, but it was empty handed.  
  
He laid down in his bed, even the thought of going to sleep having left him entirely now. The tears came dripping down his cheeks before he even realised how hard it had hit him. 

He was alone. The one for him didn’t want him. He had been right all along. 

Thus he spent the night crying into his sheets. The memories of the war and from everything between you flooding his mind and driving him senseless. Was this really the end? The end of everything he’d hoped for? Everything that he’d imagined would never come to fruition. Should he just lose hope?  
  
There was always the proposition from the Greengrass family to consider. Astoria seemed.. pretty, for sure. But.. he wanted you. You over everyone else.

He didn’t even realise when he blacked out. Memories of you plagued his mind, almost as if he was dying and he thought he very well was. Was all that had been happy in his life flashing before his eyes as he lost consciousness? He could practically feel the ground turning to air beneath his body, how he lost his grasp on everything and fell into the void. 

But then he woke up again. It was just a bloody dream. His consciousness was as it was. He should have expected as much. The healers had said shell shock was unpredictable. 

What truly surprised him was the unusual bird cry that had prompted him awake. The familiar yellow eyed, flat headed, white spotted creature that stood on his window pane. Gripping a folded note in his beak.

And that was when he began to hope.


End file.
